


The Black Mage

by Polkat (aralias)



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, April Showers 2015, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-04
Updated: 2002-09-04
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3669027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/Polkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young mage is running for his life, away from the city he thought to be his home and away from the emperor he thought to be his friend. Now in Corus he meets the people who will shape his destiny.  UNFINISHED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uploading old fic for April Showers 2015. All spelling/grammar errors left as originally posted.

The king sank lower into his chair and thought, not for the first time, how much he would rather be anywhere but here. He could hear Thayet exclaiming in delight over some new fabric that appeared to be practically identical to the last five they had been shown and let out an almost inaudible sigh; why was he even here? It wasn't as if he was actually contributing to the selection of the material. Jon made a tiny gesture with his right hand and felt his gift settling over his ears like a scarf on a cold day, shutting out the sounds of the wedding preparation.

It was a week until the wedding of Alanna of Trebond and Olau and George Cooper. A week too long, Jonathan thought absently through the haze the gift was working on his mind. At least he hadn't had to wear his crown this time; it was safely stashed away under a pile of his old robes in a wardrobe he never used. He could get at it if needed but Thayet would be unlikely to find it before such a time. His gaze flickered around the throne room, resting momentarily on his wife, still deliberating earnestly over the fabric with the help of his champion and moving about the rest of the empty room. There was no sign of George yet. The Lioness' future husband had promised to rescue him from what promised to be a long and tedious afternoon but after three hours Jon had to finally admit to himself that this possibility was becoming increasingly unlikely. As the groom George would probably become entangled as well, he thought gloomily. Still that wouldn't stop Jon cheerfully suggesting that maybe George would like to help Alanna choose the flowers while in easy hearing distance of the Lioness. A slightly smug smile touched the corners of his mouth as he pondered his revenge. Well, it was his own fault after all…

"Jonathan of Conté!"

The soothing gift blanket fell from around his ears and startled Jon looked up into the laughing eyes of the two women opposite him.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked his wife in what he desperately hoped was a placating tone."

Alanna held up the goddess' ember stone and he groaned. "You were trying to block us out again," she reprimanded.

"Well, maybe not block out."

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

Thayet came to her husbands rescue as he stumbled over his apology. "You can go once you tell me which you like better."

She held out the fabrics.

"Er…the first one," he hazarded blindly.

"See I told you," Thayet swung to face Alanna, ignoring Jon once more. "George will never wear that one."

As quietly as he could Jonathan raised himself from the throne and moved away from the arguing woman and out of the door. George had a lot of explaining to do.


	2. Arram Draper

The emperor sat, gilded on his throne of gold and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile; it was a smile that spoke of pain and self-satisfaction. Though he was conscious it would disturb the golden paint that lay around his mouth Ozorne smiled again, it was an event worth smiling at.

His hand moved protectively up to the giant necklace of black opals around his neck that he had had commissioned the day after he ascended the throne. The silky black stones slid through his fingers as his eyes, ever watchful, moved round the chamber. Slaves in loincloths milled around among the nobles of his council. It was not yet dawn and so the glass globes that illuminated the chamber were still glowing, but they were fading fast for they had been lit all night. Ozorne beckoned with one bejewelled golden hand, his many rings clicking as his fingers moved and the nearest slave rushed to his side and bowed quickly.

"Summon Master Lindhall and his student to me now" the Emperor ordered softly, the edge of delight faint but audible on his voice.

It had been long enough. Now he was emperor, things would change. "Oh yes," he murmured to himself. "It's about time you paid…"

The man rose from the bed and started to dress quietly. He felt, rather than saw the woman stir next to him as he pulled on his boots and turned to look at her, a silver shaft of moonlight breaking through the shutters to caress her face. Quickly he returned to the task at hand and retrieved his shirt from the floor. He couldn't make this any easier but it could quite easily be made more difficult. Shaking hands tied back his long black hair and he moved over to the mirror mounted on the wall.

Who will you be next time you look at yourself?

The thought remained unspoken yet still it worried him deeply.

"No," the woman whispered.

He swung quickly thinking she was awake but her eyes were still shut as she wrestled with the silken sheets. He eased them gently from her fingers and pushed the strands of honey coloured hair than had escaped back behind her ears. Before he could think properly about what he was about to do he bent over kissed her forehead and ran out of the room, his expensive kid boots making no sound on the wooden floor.

He felt his eyes stinging and furiously wiped them. His cloak whirled about his as he leapt lightly down those stairs for the last time, away from that place.

Though he knew it was pointless, that she would never hear him, he mouthed a final farewell: "Goodbye Varice," as he hurled himself through the streets of Carthak.

"Arram?" The familiar voice echoed through the empty pre dawn alleys of the city.

The mage held out his hand, a small ball of his black gift sparkled in his palm. "What's the word from our good friend the emperor, Lindhall?" he asked quietly still moving purposefully towards the university where his master waited.

Lindhall winced. "His messenger has already been here. We're commanded to make an appearance in two hours, at sunrise."

"Will that be enough time?" his apprentice asked.

"It should be ample. You've cut it rather fine though, as usual. I'll tell you one thing, I won't miss your complete lack of punctuality."

Arram smiled cheerfully, "But you'll miss me?"

"Just get here."

The mage's face disappeared and Arram closed his hand, extinguishing the flaming ball.

He passed swiftly through the courtyard that would in but two hours be full of bustling mages and white robed novices of every skin colour imaginable and tried not to think that he might never see that scene again. The university loomed ominously into sight: its two midnight painted pillars dominating the view. Briskly he ran up the stairs and into the tall, five tiered building.

His master's study was at the end of a very long, winding corridor but eventually Arram reached the door bearing the familiar golden plaque:

Master Lindhall Reed – Plants, Animal Behaviour and Habitats.

He leaned in close to the door, knocked playfully and called "let me in dolt."

It swung open grudgingly to reveal Lindhall standing amid the chaos that was his workroom. "I wish you wouldn't do that," the older man told him, a sigh in his voice.

"Do what?" Arram asked innocently, picking up a rock containing a small fossil and turning it over in his hands curiously.

"Shout out my opening spell to the whole corridor. I don't want to have to change it, it took a lot of work putting in place."

Arram looked up from his study of the bones. " _I_  put it in place," he pointed out.

"I know that. I don't want to remove one of your spells!"

"Lindhall, I didn't realise you were so sentimental," he beamed. And turned his concentration back to the skeleton he held. "Lindhall, what  _is_  this?"

His master scowled at him. "You know that I meant it would be incredibly difficult to break. And what you hold is a rare and exquisite almost complete skeleton of a creature now long extinct. It seems to be some kind of bird-lizard." Hastily he pulled his treasure back from his student. "This really isn't the time Arram."

He placed the bone back on the tray it had been in previously, causing a very large pile of what were probably extremely old and extremely valuable books to topple to the ground. Clouds of dust billowed up as they crashed around him. Lindhall's birds awoke and started screeching. As the mage rushed to calm them Arram stooped to pick up the books. Deftly he stacked them into a precarious pile and removed his hand experimentally; the books wobbled dangerously. He whispered a couple of well chosen words and removed his hand, the pile slid forty-five degrees but stayed upright, his gift still glinting around the edges of the stack.

"Don't you ever do anything properly?"

He looked up guiltily. "You saw that then."

The usually easy-going mage sighed despairingly. "I don't need to see anymore. We're linked with a magical bond, my apprentice. I can feel when you enchant anything." His care worn face twitched into a smile than appeared much more at home than his previous expressions. "Besides I actually know you. You're hideously lazy. Never do a job manually that can be completed with magic, even if it would be much easier just to heap the books in smaller piles that don't over balance."

"Easier perhaps, but as entertaining? If I had used my common sense you would've been deprived the chance to reprimand me. I know you enjoy it so much." He winked.

"I don't enjoy it. But…"

"But?"

"You need to learn that magic isn't always the answer. It won't always be the answer. Learn to do things with your own two hands." Lindhall gestured to a display case. "I built the iguana's home myself and it has never failed me."

Arram tried at the same time to look interested and to ignore the fact that he had fixed that same cage three times with magic.

"I understand Lindhall. Honestly."

"Do you? Sometimes I wonder if you've learned anything at all from me."

He walked to the window and looked out over the city. The globes had all gone out now and the first of the sun's rays were licking over the houses. "It's almost time. Follow me."

They stood in one of Lindhall's smaller workshops and Arram surveyed his work dubiously. "Will this seriously work?"

"To be honest with you I really don't know. It's never been done before, you know that."

His student grinned shakily. "I know. I was just hoping you'd reassure me."

"You appreciate, of course, that I would never do that that?"

"Of course." He assessed the situation again critically. "But it has a chance, right? We can hope?"

"If we cannot hope then life becomes futile," Lindhall commented. "But on a more direct note, yes I think we have every reason to believe that our plan will succeed." He looked up and focused on his student. "Are you ready?"

Arram cast one last look around the room he had grown to love and the man who was now dearer to him than his own father and nodded grimly.

"Good," Lindhall turned to pick up a book and found himself clasped tightly in Arram's desperate hug. "Yes, yes…" he murmured. "I'll miss you too."

The younger man detached himself from his master and withdrew a large black stone from inside his shirt. "This is it then."

Lindhall nodded. "Have you chosen a new identity?"

Arram managed a weak smile. "I have indeed. From now on I shall be known as Numair Salmalin."

Lindhall raised his eyebrows sceptically. "So nothing dramatic then?" Arram opened his mouth to protest but Lindhall waved it aside. "I'm sorry. I know you've always wanted a proper sorcerer's name. Now you finally have the chance. Now you can go out and finally do something useful with your life instead of staying here cooped up with me and my birds. Not leaving because you didn't want to hurt my feelings."

"Lindhall, I…"

"We both know I taught you all I could ages ago. You've far surpassed me in your abilities and there are so many other places on this world a black-robed mage would be needed."

At a loss for anything to say Arram embraced his master again. "Lets get this over with then."

The sun was now completely up, at any moment someone would appear demanding to know why they had not yet accepted the emperor's summons.

"How about now?"

Lindhall shook his head. "It still sounds like your voice is coming from the other side of the room."

As if from a distance he heard his apprentice sigh again. "Alright, last try. If this doesn't work I'll just have to appear before Ozorne without it." A few archaic words filled the growing silence. "How about now?"

"It's not perfect but it'll do."

"Now the difficult part." Arram emerged from behind one of the curtains. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Certain."

The youth placed his hands either side of Lindhall's head, his index fingers touching his master's temples. "Here goes then."


	3. Flight

"Master Lindhall, so good of you to join us." Ozorne's voice rang clearly around the lofty chamber. Lindhall inclined his head respectfully but remained silent, the emperor was ignoring him now anyway. All of his attention, all of his malice was focused upon Arram who stood rather calmly next to his master. "Arram Draper…" the emperor hissed his voice snake like, "Will you not bow before your emperor?"

Arram's eye's narrowed but he executed a short, perfunctory bow.

"You know why you are here of course."

"No," his enemy replied placidly. "Well not in the strictest sense. I know of course that I am to be banished. Why, though, remains a mystery. I assume you intend to enlighten me."

"Don't be a fool Arram," Ozorne snapped.

"But that's the problem isn't it?" his former friend replied. "Had I adopted the guise of a fool perhaps I could've remained in Carthak."

The emperor smiled his serpent grin. "Oh it's so much worse than that. Step forward Staghorn."

Arram's face remained motionless. Everything was so predictable; it was almost disappointing.

A man detached himself from the crowds of people hovering in anticipation around the throne room and came to stand next to the master and his pupil. He and Arram exchanged a dark look before he turned back towards his emperor and bowed formally.

"Master Tristan Staghorn, please relate to the court a truthful account of your discoveries relating to the man next to you." Ozorne reclined regally into his throne in satisfaction as Staghorn started to speak.

"Firstly I have to apologise to Arram," he turned to lay a comforting hand on the other man's arm but Arram flinched away.

"Don't bother Tristan," he broke in coldly. "We've never been friends and I see no reason to change that, especially not at the moment you betray me."

Staghorn shifted uneasily and his hazel eyes flicked to the emperor uncertainly. "I know we may have had our differences in the past…"

Arram snorted. "Differences? You drugged my wine and almost made me miss my final black robe examination."

"That was a long time ago…"

"It was last month." Arram interrupted dark eyes as hard as agates. "Just get on with it."

"Yes please do," the emperor ordered, his voice bored.

"Whatever you majesty commands," Tristan replied reclaiming his dignity. "My emperor, my lords and ladies, it has been my unfortunate duty to appear before you today to speak of a subject that appals me." He paused. "It was brought to my attention that the mage known as Arram Draper has been consorting with nobles from across the sea. To what end, I cannot tell you, but I may inform you that all evidence points towards acts of treason. My sources all suggest that Tortall has been supplied with information they could not have acquired without inside help." His voice rose, growing louder to ensure that all occupants of the room caught his next words.

"In short I would accuse Arram Draper of being a deceitful worm; of leaking information to our Tortallan adversaries. Of being a traitor."

The silence was complete.

Arram stifled a gasp. He knew, as did everyone else in the room, that treason was punished, not with banishment but with death.

"You're just going to kill me off then?"

Ozorne raised a finely golden eyebrow. "You've betrayed the throne Master Draper. It is not our will, but that of the state."

Arram tried unsuccessfully not to glare as he growled, "You control the laws of the state, Ozorne."

"His majesty," the guard stationed behind Arram commented. The sword's butt caught him around the face knocking him from his feet and onto his knees.

"I apologise  _your majesty"_ he spat from his new position on the floor.

"Enough!" The emperor cried rising to his feet. "Arram Draper can you deny that you have had any contact with any member of the Tortallan government on business not arranged by this court?"

Arram looked up, a trickle of blood running from one eyebrow. "I have not."

"Lying?" Ozorne smirked, a cruel smile dancing on his lips. "How droll. It was of course anticipated and I took the liberty of dousing last nights wine with a truth serum. It should take effect any moment now.

He smiled again as he asked: "Have you consorted with the nobles of Tortall?"

"I have not." He struggled back to his feet.

The smile wavered but was quickly replaced. "Have you betrayed the state of Carthak?"

"No."

"You lie!" Ozorne fumed. Both of them were shouting now.

"I'm not! Don't you even trust your own gift?"

With dark pleasure he watched the emperor squirm. Two choices lay before him, neither acceptable. On the one had he could admit Arram's innocence; on the other admit his talent was flawed.

"Your majesty allow me to intervene," Tristan injected smoothly. "As we all know Draper may be a deceiver and a traitor but he has a rare amount of power at his hands. He has obviously used his gift to subvert the potion." His voice was soothing as he lied to the assembly. "Perhaps I could suggest a different test."

He turned back to Arram and winked at him. "Trial by combat."

Lindhall's warning echoed in the vaults of his memory:

"Don't let him draw you into a magical duel. You aren't strong enough."

"Don't worry Lindhall. I'm not a fool."

"Really? Sometimes I worry."

To accept meant to lose everything. To decline, to admit his guilt.

"I…that is…" he stammered, uncertainly.

"Scared Draper?" the other mage challenged.

Yes.

It was time.

"There will be a time when I will accept your challenge Master Staghorn," he declared softly, "but not today." He turned quickly to look at Lindhall. "Goodbye," he whispered.

From his gleaming throne Ozorne watched him fall.

"No," he gasped.

Lindhall watched his apprentice's collapse and flew to his side.

"Arram?" he asked earnestly, kneeling at his friend's side. But there was no reply.

He was roughly hauled to his feet and found himself, facing a furious emperor. "You knew!" he accused.

"I knew nothing," Lindhall replied calmly. "Use any device you wish. This is as much of a shock to you as it is to me. Although I must admit I suspected he might try something."

His eyes still strayed to the inanimate form.

"Something this dramatic though…" his voice trailed off.

The sounds of Ozorne's displeasure followed him as Lindhall made his way back up to his study; the sounds of the university's students waking up impeding only slightly.

"Open up dolt," he called softly as the door swung open obediently.

He looked around the cluttered workrooms. Empty. Exhausted he sank into a chair, resting his head gently in his hands.  _You knew it would come to this._ His hand slammed down onto the table; it was all so stupid. The ancient wood vibrated under his fist and the pile of books finally lost their battle with gravity and fell around him. Slowly he picked them up.

His book on mammal anatomy lay open. On its corn coloured pages lay a rather crumpled piece of parchment, addressed in flowing script to Master Lindhall Reed. His heart heavy he broke the seal and read.

_Dear Lindhall,_

_If you are reading this then, as I feared, things have come to the worst and I have been forced to flee Carthak._   _As you know I had always suspected something like this would happen as soon as Ozorne ascended the throne. The sense of betrayal remains the same._

_I cannot thank you enough for your help over the last few weeks with my simulacrum, although of course you will not remember it. I took the precaution of erasing you memories of your involvement in all this but be assured you were an invaluable asset._

_Hopefully I am now somewhere over the Great Inland Sea and if the winds remain fair I shall land on the south coast of Tortall sometime tomorrow._

_I will always treasure my time with you._

_I remain, as always, your affectionate student,_

_Numair Salmalin._


	4. The Wedding

Thayet left the tent where her husband continued to struggle with George and his choice of outfit. Apparently the former King of Thieves and current Baron of Pirate Swoop was not as fond of blue silk as the king and his queen. Jon had remarked that perhaps if George had attended any of the multiple meetings about the fabrics he could've complained. He had been rewarded with a scowl and a fortunately inaccurately aimed kick.

"It looks nice," she heard Jon protest through the tent's flimsy sides and grinned. Her skirts swished pleasantly as she made her way towards Alanna's tent.

"Excuse me," she heard a hurried voice mumble. She didn't see the man until he had bumped into her knocking her to the ground. He gasped and bent to help her up, "I can't apologise enough."

"I'm fine," she looked down at her dress, which was now streaked with mud. He followed her gaze.

"Oh…I'm so sorry."

"It's alright. I'll get a mage to fix it," she remarked trying to reassure him. He looked so miserable already.

"I…have to go. It was nice ruining your dress. That was supposed to be a joke by the way," he said nervously. "Anyway…" he seemed to reconsider, "goodbye."

He pushed back through the crowd. Alanna's tent was pitched on the opposite side of the wedding field; Thayet tried to ignore the glances people threw at her despoiled dress as she walked towards her friend's tent. "Are you decent?" she called.

The reply came back quickly, "come in."

Standing on a small stool in the tent's centre the Lioness was radiant in ivory silk.

"Do you like it?" she asked anxiously.

Thayet smiled gently, "You look beautiful."

"Your majesty, your dress!" one of the ladies attending the champion exclaimed.

"I ran into someone on my way here," the queen explained, "or rather he ran into me."

"Who?" Alanna asked curiously, stepping off the stool towards Thayet, the movement accompanied by the sound of ripping fabric. Guiltily, Alanna looked down at the tear that had appeared in the fabric of her dress. Tutting the lady who had worried earlier rose from her position on the floor and moved over to where the two women stood. Sparkles of emerald gift spread from her hands over Thayet's despoiled dress and across the rip in Alanna's.

"I didn't recognise him," the queen answered eventually after thanking the seamstress. "He wasn't Tortallan though; probably one of the multitudes of tourists who have journeyed from their distant homelands to witness the wedding of the Lioness."

While they talked, the man they discussed strolled through the chattering crowds a false air of nonchalance worn around him like another man's cloak. Without pausing Arram surveyed the festivities, it appeared the Lioness' wedding was going to be everything that had been promised.

He felt detached from all these bustling Tortallans, a foreigner invading this special occasion. It had been a week since he had flown across the sea and since that fateful morning he had barely slept or ate. Light stubble clung to his cheeks and his eyes darted nervously around the large field the wedding was being held in. The man that now stood in the middle of a horde of guests was not the same man who had narrowly escaped death at Ozorne's hands. Gone was the easy air and blunt charm. Instead this stranger stood in his place.

His meeting with the Queen had shaken Arram badly.  _What if she had recognised you?_ the overly cautious part of his mind asked.  _Don't be so arrogant,_ he reprimanded himself quickly.  _Half the people in the university still only think of you as the rather bumbling student of Lindhall Reed. Why would Queen Thayet of Tortall be able to identify you if most of you year mates still can't?_

Still it was a risk he should've have taken. Mistakes at this stage could cost him and that price would be dear. It would cost him his life. Ozorne would not forget so quickly.

He had been standing still for some time now.

"How long has he been there? Do you think he's alright?"

"Why don't you go ask him?"

"Why don't you?"

Arram snapped back to alertness looked over at the two small children who watched him closely, their innocent faces wearing the troubled expressions of far older beings.

After a moments indecision the older plucked up the courage to ask "Are you alright, mister?"

He smiled and bent down to their eye level. "I'm fine" he reached behind the ear of the smaller girl and produced a shining coin "but I believe you must have lost this." She stared at it with a mixture of delight and naked hunger before honesty took over. "I can't take it," she mumbled.

Arram scrutinised them closely. Both were thinner than they ought to be; both still stared at the coin in his out stretched hand.

"I understand," he closed his hands quickly, then opened them. The coin had disappeared. The look of disappointment was not hidden well on either face. "It's a shame but…" he grinned once more, "wait a minute. What's this?" Deftly he reached behind the ear of the other girl; two smaller coins gleamed in his palm. "You should wash behind your ears better," he reprimanded then added encouragingly, "take them, please."

Wide eyed, disbelieving they snatched the coins from the crazy foreigner who made money appear from mid-air and then gave it away. "Are you a mage?" the littlest asked, clutching her coin tightly.

"No, kitten" Arram replied quickly. "I'm a street artist. Why don't you come and see my show some time, I'll look out for you." He ruffled the hair of each before straightening. "Enjoy the wedding."

They scurried off into the bustling crowd and the black robed mage strode off into the viewing stands. It was almost time.

Down in the groom's tent the king gasped, feeling one of his spells break.

"The barrier's down."

 _Why are you doing this?_ the voice of common sense screamed at him as Arram extinguished the barrier the King of Tortall had created around the festivities. While it was up no mage would've been able to work any spell more serious than mending clothes or filling wineglasses. Now it now longer existed. His gift flew from him and settled in the space previously occupied by Jonathan of Conté's barrier of protection creating the illusion that it was still in place.

 _Because…_ Arram answered uncertainly before coming to a decision.  _Because they ruined my life, damnit._

"The barrier's down," Jonathan repeated patiently to the growing crowd of friends that gathered around his prostrate figure. "We have an unfriendly mage of phenomenal power in our midst."

"Are you sure?" his wife asked.

"As far as I can see its still up," Alanna put in.

Jonathan shot her a gentle look of disbelief. "Do you doubt that I can feel when my spells are broken?"

"No. That's what worries me," the Lioness replied. "It looks exactly like your gift. I even used the Goddess' ember stone to make sure." Out loud she asked the question they all dreaded to put into words. "What is this mage planning?"

"What will you do once you reach Tortall?" Lindhall had asked.

"I'm not really sure," Arram replied with an air of innocence that immediately alerted his mentor that it was completely put on.

"I shouldn't have to ask this but, you're not going to do anything stupid are you?"

"Lindhall I'm horrified," his student grinned across from his seat in front of Lindhall desk. "Black-robes don't do stupid things. They only ever _experiment_." He turned back to the letter he was writing.

"You know I worry about you. When are you ever going to grow up?"

"Hopefully not for a long time yet." He extended his hand over the nearest unlit candle.

"Arram, I wouldn't…" Lindhall managed before it was too late and his apprentice had used his gift in an attempt to light it. The candle exploded covering Arram with hot wax.

"How many times has that happened now?" Lindhall asked picking himself up from the floor where he had remained wax-free.

"Four at least," Arram answered sheepishly.

"Black-robes don't do stupid things? Use a match next time," his master advised him. "I'm running out of candles. Here, allow me." He produced another crimson candle and set it glowing. Quickly Arram sealed his letter using the dripping wax and blew it out. "Ready to work on the simulacrum again?"

"It's almost complete now," Lindhall stated before smiling. "You realise you have managed to completely swing the conversation from what you're going to do in Tortall?"

"It's a gift," Arram told him modestly and followed his master into the room, which housed the simulacrum stopping only briefly to slip the letter inside one of the bigger books that rested on Lindhall's desk.

He had avoided telling Lindhall mainly because he wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do himself.

"You're not going to do anything stupid are you?"

"Probably," he answered now. It was too late though. Lindhall was back in Carthak; possibly reading his letter now while he was here in Tortall; possibly about to destroy everything he had ever worked for.


	5. Stupidity

The ceremony had started and with unnatural calm Arram watched as the Lioness walked, happily towards a beaming Baron of Pirate Swoop. He had come to the wedding with one aim alone: to destroy it. Why was not yet clear to him but the part of his being that seethed with suppressed anger knew it wanted to obliterate something. It didn't seem to matter any more that he didn't even know Alanna or her future husband, it didn't matter that they had had no real part in his downfall, didn't matter that there was no logical reason for his actions. Unknowingly these people had evicted him from his home, from all he had ever known.

His mouth opened the first incantation on his lips.

"Do you, Alanna of Trebond and Olau, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health until death do you part?"

Arram shook his head. It was all a bit pathetic really, a shame it would be over in a few moments time.

"I do."

His eyes strayed to the place the happy couple stood surrounded by their friends. For a moment he repented.  _But where are_ my _friends?_  He thought savagely.  _They betrayed me._

"And do you, George…"

The rest of the man's speech was wasted on Arram who stood, locked in a silent battle with himself.

 _These people were merely the tools._ They _do not deserve your vengeance. You don't need to do this._

 _"You're not going to do anything stupid are you?"_ Lindhall's voice asked, dimly from the past.

"They destroyed my life!" he yelled as several people turned to stare at him in amazement. Quickly the young mage paced away.

 _"Don't worry Lindhall. I'm not a fool,"_ he heard himself replying.

"It's their fault," he murmured.

Lindhall's voice again:  _"Really? Sometimes I worry."_

"I do": The Baron of Pirate's swoop.

 _"Do you think he's alright?"_ the watching children inquired.

He walked faster, away from the festivities.

"Don't worry Lindhall. I'm not a fool."

"Shut up!"

"Don't worry Lindhall. I'm not a fool."

The first of the tears streamed from his eyes, but he did not notice.

"Have you betrayed the state of Carthak?"

"I have not."

"Ozorne," he hissed, tasting salt on cracked lips.

_"You control the laws of the state, Ozorne."_

"This is  _Ozorne's_  fault," he gasped as the revelation struck him.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

It was over then.


	6. Negotiation

"You must realise that what you propose is utterly preposterous?"

"On the contrary," the ambassador countered silkily. "His imperial majesty believes that given the current circumstances and given your refusal to adopt any of the other measures previously suggested this can be our only other option."

Jonathan rose angrily to his feet and stormed over to the large windows to gaze out over Tortall, anger seething just below the surface of his skin. By his sides fists opened and closed rapidly until he felt he could turn around safely without incinerating Ozorne's emissary. Through gritted teeth he tried to politely explain the situation to this smiling serpent. "His imperial majesty must understand that I am hardly likely to permit large amounts of his army to wander the streets of my capital just to search for one man! The very suggestion is ludicrous."

As Jon got more agitated the ambassador's smile widened. "Master Draper is hardly just one man, your majesty. His capture is very important to the emperor. Infact his capture is so important to his majesty that drastic measures might have to be attempted if there was any reason for his majesty to suspect that another country was sheltering Master Draper from the imperial forces. Do I make myself clear?"

Fists clenched again and unclenched the crackle of the king's magic filled the air but he pulled it back inside himself and answered with the most rational air he could manage. "You'd declare war on Tortall just to regain custody of this man?"

"I'm glad we understand each other." The ambassador rose smoothly from his chair and started to the door. "I expect your answer to the proposal tomorrow at the same o'clock so I may deliver the news to the emperor. He stopped as he passed another of the large windows and gazed down disinterestedly. "Corus really is a beautiful city. It would be a shame if it were reduced to a ruin. Good day your majesty."

The door clicked shut after him and Jonathan sank into the throne shaking with anger, frustration and disbelief.

It was not long before the rest of his council learned of the ambassador's departure from the private meeting he had insisted on with the King and burst in through the door he had just left through.

At present there was only the one chair opposite the throne and Jon waited for the screeching of chairs being drawn up to end before speaking. Every one of his words was quiet and deliberately chosen but it was clear to all sitting round him that Jonathan of Conté was angrier than he had been for years.

"It seems that last week a man about to be executed for treason escaped from Ozorne's punishment. The man in question was black robed mage who went by the name Arram Draper. Has anyone heard of him?"

"I've heard his name." Alanna nodded through the sea of shaken heads. "But last time I heard he was the emperor's pet mage, hardly the sort of person you'd expect to turn traitorous."

"Do we know his crime?" Thayet asked from Alanna's left.

"No, the ambassador didn't say and I didn't ask. It's a comfort to find he's real at least though. Apparently Ozorne suspects him to have escaped across the Great Inland Sea and more specifically," he smiled but without any good humour, "more specifically he's escaped into Tortall. The emperor's mages have ascertained that he is probably hiding out right in the middle of our capital and he respectfully asks if he may disperse twenty or so highly skilled mages and a battalion of his best soldiers through Corus to look for this man."

"That's insane" Raoul stormed. "He must think we're simpletons if he thinks we'll just let him infiltrate Corus."

"Oh but you haven't even heard the best part. If we don't comply with his wishes he'll simply invade and the armies of Carthak will crush us."

"Can't we resist them?"

"Not for long even with the Jewel Carthak's army is so vast it won't be long before Ozorne controls Corus. It seems we have little choice but to comply with his wishes. I have a meeting with the ambassador tomorrow; Ozorne's army could arrive in as little time as a month. I suggest we try and find this Master Draper before they arrive so we can send them on their way as soon as possible."

There were murmurs of agreement as Jon rose.

"Now if you'll excuse me I've got to explode something," and with his robes whipping behind them the King of Tortall stalked from the room.


	7. Numair Salmalin

Street life did not agree with him. He'd decided this on his first night in Corus but now with two weeks of experience behind him Numair felt he could now modify that statement slightly. Street life  _really_  did not agree with him.

The twinkle in his eye had long since faded; the fine clothes he had stolen before the wedding had been sold off early on to pay for his meals to be replaced with far humbler ones and now the man whom many in Carthak believed a peacock was a mess.

"Alright, now which pot is the bean under?"

Quickly the little girl pointed at the pot furthest on the left. "Are you sure?" She nodded and his heart sank. To be quite honest he had no idea which pot the stupid bean was under but from experience he knew that his few customers usually did. With low expectations he lifted up the tiny pot to be rewarded with the sight of a tiny green bean winking at him in the noon sun. The child beamed and he handed her money back to her, accompanied by another grubby copper coin.

"Do you want to play again?" he asked hoping she wouldn't. Logically the spectator had a one in three chance of winning at the game, how they managed to follow the pots progress under his flashing hands he would never understand and yet the game seemed to loose him money rather than gain it. He watched her face screw up in thought.  _Please don't play again,_  he prayed.

Solemnly she shook her head and his face fell in practised disappointment. "That's a shame. Come back tomorrow kitten."

She smiled shyly and ran off shouting over her shoulder, "bye Noomar."

"Bye kitten," he called after her.

Two weeks he'd been here, two bloody weeks and already he was a wreck. Dismally he delved into one of his dirty pockets and drew out what remained of the money he had sold his clothes for. Three copper coins gleamed up at him from his grime-encrusted palm. He would not eat tonight. Nor ever again it seemed unless business improved.

 _And it never will,_  he thought gloomily. On escaping from Carthak it had struck him that he possessed no practical skills at all. Being able to turn stones into bread was all very impressive but not at all useful, as the bread was completely inedible and would probably leave him ill for the next month. There was nothing he was actually any good at except magic and fear had stopped him using that as well. Ozorne would be looking for him; he was probably already here either personally or represented by some grovelling minion like Staghorn, the last thing he needed was to light up a giant beacon proclaiming his presence by using his gift. Fortunately Numair Salmalin no longer looked anything like Arram Draper. Arram had been cheerful, charming and powerful mage; Numair was a bedraggled tramp who would sleep on the floor tonight and probably for the rest of his life. Every morning he woke, forgetting where he was and every morning as he remembered he asked the same question:  _is it worth living like this?_  Every morning he decided it wasn't but continued to trudge on anyway, some small flame of hope still burned inside him. Things would change.

Perhaps he would even become good at this confounded game.

"Is anyone allowed to play?" a woman's pleasant voice asked.

Numair looked up and smiled Arram's trademark debonair smile as his heart dropped. "Of course ma'am. I would never make any money if I allowed myself to turn away beautiful young women merely on principal." She smiled and the man next to her wrapped a protective arm around her waist and asked dubiously, "is it actually possible to win this thing?"

"It has been known to happen."

Still smiling a smile he didn't feel he continued with the show. "Alright, watch the cup with the bean in it."

"I'm watching," the Lioness replied.

"OK, keep watching." As he let his hands wander through the now familiar routine he allowed his mind to wander as well. What in Mithros' name was Alanna the Lioness doing down here in the slums of Corus? Her vivid red hair was now black and her eyes blue but there was no mistaking the violet gift burning inside her. Still pretending he was focusing on the game his gaze flickered to the man next to her who was also unmistakably the Baron of Pirate's Swoop.  _Where they out looking for him?_  He felt panic grip him; its icy fingers closing round his heart. They couldn't be. He was just being overly arrogant again.

His hands stopped. "Where is the bean?" he declared as if he cared about nothing in the world more than the location of this single bean.

"Under that one," Alanna pointed at the middle one.

"Are you sure?"

She wavered. He beamed. Nobody had ever been unsure before, perhaps he was finally getting better at this thing. Then again perhaps she had merely been concentrating on something else, perhaps on the identity of the man who moved the bean rather than the bean itself.

"For heaven's sake it's this one," the baron said lifting up the one to his right.

There was nothing beneath it.

The shock on his face was so real and outraged Numair almost laughed. Just to check he lifted up the middle pot; the bean winked up at him.

He grinned wryly. "Well done milady." Grudgingly he pushed one of his three coppers across the table towards them. Laughing the Lioness took it. "Thank you. You're very honest."

"As am I," George was smiling too now. "I lost fair and square. I believe this is yours." A sparkling new silver coin slid across the bench towards him. Numair almost dropped it in surprise. To Arram silver was nothing, to Numair it meant an extra week of existence, perhaps even a bed tonight. "Thank you," he managed as the two turned and moved away.

"Don't mention it," the baron grinned back over his shoulder.

They were almost out of the end of the alley now. Black sparkles formed around his hand as his gift welcomed him back like an old friend. It was only small magic, hopefully not something that would be detected back to him but even with the danger it promised he could not resist using his gift this time. With a final quick movement he released the listening charm and watched it move, invisible to every one else down the street to hover over the heads of his most recent customers.

"What about him? He had the gift," the baron's voice asked. A jolt of fear ran down his spine and he almost with drew the spell there and then but in his moment of hesitation Alanna had answered.

"Its possible I admit but I don't think Jon'll appreciate us dragging every second rate sorcerer we find here down to the castle just because they  _might_  be this Master Draper."

"Perhaps you're right."

"I'm always right."

"Alright dear."

"You're getting really good at that."

"I know. The trick is not to mean it. Time to go back I think, there are too many people who know me here."

"No desire to return to that life then?"

"None what so ever. It's nice to know nobody's gonna jump out from behind a house wielding a sharp weapon, trying to take your place."

"Oh George," the Lioness answered mischievously. "You know I'd protect you."

"Touching," the former king of the thieves answered dryly. "Let's just leave the capture of this man to Ozorne's mages. This is pointless. We don't even know what he looks like, we could've passed him twice and not recognised him."

Their voices faded with the spell and he was left alone again. Oddly he found he wasn't petrified with fear, it was vaguely reassuring to know he wasn't just being paranoid. No doubt Tristan would be here soon but he was, Numair reflected, an incompetent fool. They would not find him here. Tonight he would rent a room at the Dancing Dove and sleep on a real bed for the first time in too long and he would eat tomorrow. Things were definitely looking up.

And perhaps he thought hopefully, he would even get better at this stupid game.


	8. Sanstring

Onua woke reluctantly to a new day, tried opening her eyes then rapidly shut them, wondering momentarily why such a simple action had hurt so much. A tentative hand reached up and she flinched as the bruised skin met her fingertips. Rolling over to her side away from the harsh light of the morning she was able to open her right eye fully; her left eye was mostly swollen shut but the crack between her lids was enough for her to see Jaret's back rising and falling peacefully, his breathing calm and measured. He was still sleeping then. The arm closest to her twitched and she shuffled backwards as far as the tent walls would allow - sleeping was how she liked Jaret Sanstring best; it would be a shame to wake him. Outside the sounds that signalled the start of the day had already begun, and she could hear Kalemmoving about quietly, whispering to the horses briefly before moving on to bring out the water barrels. Her husband moved again and Onua wrapped her bed roll close around her, hugging herself tightly, a single tear worked its way down her cheek before dripping onto her hand, too many mornings she woke with only a hazy memory of the night before, new bruises decorating her dark skin. Jaret grunted and turned over to face her. The stench of stale alcohol still clung to his breath from the night before and a week's stubble coursed over his chin.

 _Why did I marry him?_  Onua thought, as she had every morning after their wedding. Each morning the thought was answered with another question:  _Why don't I just leave him?_

But while the first question always remained unanswered the second was not so happily ignored. She knew why she stayed with him: She was afraid to leave.

Careful not to make any hasty movement she felt towards her packs eventually locating a small circular looking glass inside one of the pockets. She lifted it towards her face and winced at what she saw briefly before relaxing her muscles once more; wincing hurt too. The girl in the glass stared back sadly at her, a large purple bruise surrounding one of her eyes and a half healed cut seared across one cheekbone. Onua tried smiling; the mirror girl managed a weak smile too but it didn't quite reach her eyes. It never did.

A rooster crowed.

Quickly she hid the glass back beneath her pack and burrowed back into her bedroll until only her eyes showed, staring across at him. It was better if he didn't see what he had done to her the night before, which would only provoke emotional apologies, assurances he would never do it again and fumbled embraces. Jaret stirred, his lashes fluttered and he grinned at her. "Looks like another beautiful day."

She didn't reply; he didn't expect an answer.

Jaret rose easily - still clad in the creased garments of the previous day - and flung the tent flaps aside, striding outside to greet his friends exuberantly as Onua cowered away from the light. Her husband's head reappeared, "I'm off fishing, love. Will you be alright on your own till lunch?"

He always spoke the same way; as they were the perfect couple who couldn't bear to be apart for more than was necessary, "I'll be fine," she mumbled through her bedding.

She heard him pick up his fishing rod, heard the voices of his companions join his and heard their voices dwindle in the distance before she ventured outside herself.

Mari's tent was not far from her own and Onua ducked into it swiftly. The healer was already awake and appeared to be making some kind of foul smelling ointment. The girl had time to hope it wasn't for her before Mari spoke, her voice dripping with barely suppressed irony:

"Onua, what a pleasant surprise."

She was still intent upon her work and so Onua was able to blush beneath her bruises. "Perhaps I have just come to talk to you Mari, my love."

"Perhaps," the older woman acknowledged, "or perhaps that pig of a husband of yours has rearranged your face once more." Her dark eyes flicked up and analysed the damage. "I see."

"I fell off Kara yesterday," Onua explained quickly, "I must have landed on a rock or something. This has nothing to do with Jaret. "Her friend looked up, eyes flashing with anger and Onua cringed involuntarily. "It's not his fault," she finished weakly.

"Of it course it isn't and I'm Princess Thayet."

" _Queen_  Thayet," Onua corrected without thinking and then wished she hadn't as the healer glared at her.

"No horse has thrown you since you were seven, its insulting that you think I'd believe that rubbish."

"I don't really," she murmured. "I just don't want you to go after Jaret."

Mari advanced on her wielding the evil smelling stuff and though her face was still angry the hand rubbing the ointment into the injured skin was gentle. "I just wish I understood why you stay with him."

"She fears being alone."

Onua flushed furiously and tried to pull away from Mari and leave the tent before the new visitor could say or see anything more but the other held her shoulder tightly. "Onua, I'd like you to meet my friend Ja-min. I asked her to come on the…ah, off chance you'd seek me out for a  _chat_  this morning."

Ja-min seated herself opposite them and regarded them both closely, steely gaze flickering to Onua more often than it lingered on Mari.

"You arrived yesterday with the Doi," Onua ventured eventually.

The woman nodded. "I am their Woman-Who-Sees." She lapsed into silence again for a while and then pronounced: "You wish to know something of me."

"Why are you here?"

"Mari invited me," she smiled slightly. "That was not the question but then, very few people ask it. They, like you, do not wish to share their private affairs with an ageing foreigner."

"I'll leave you alone." Mari gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and disappeared through the flaps.

Onua didn't offer anything until it became obvious Ja-min would not begin again. "So are you going to tell my fortune or something?" she asked curiously.

"If that's what you want."

She raised her chin defiantly. "All right."

"Hmmm," her lips pursed together. "I usually read faces…" Ja-Min moved closer, weathered fingers ran down Onua's cheek pausing at every bruise. "Mari's done a good job healing these but" she shook her head, "I'm sorry I can't read yours like this."

Onua muttered something that sounded suspiciously like  _"how convenient"_  but the seer either hadn't heard or chose to ignore it because she dug into her pockets and fished out a collection of rocks. "I can read your runes instead but it's much less accurate. Here," she thrust the pebbles into Onua's hands and surprised, the girl dropped them again.

Ja-Min bent over the pebbles, her face intent. "Interesting."

"What?" Onua asked despite herself.

"Apparently you'll be going on a trip…"

"… And I'll meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger right?"

Ja-Min grinned. "Perhaps."

Onua shook her head and smiled back. "Well thank you for your time Ja-Min. It was entertaining if not…"

The fortune-teller chuckled slightly. "Don't worry Chamtong, the hawk-man is not for you."

" _Sanstring_ ," Onua stated quietly but firmly.

"I beg your pardon."

"My name is Sanstring now. I left Chamtong behind a long time ago."

"It has not left you."

_Had she winked?_

Ja-Min got up and stood over the girl before Onua rose too. The seer took her hand and Onua was surprised to see a well of sadness behind those dark pupils. "You're destined for good things Onua Chamtong, not great maybe but things better than this." She smiled gently and pressed Onua's hand. "You _deserve_  better than this."


	9. Antlers

Exhausted, Tristan closed his eyes and leaned backward into his chair, feet rested on the table, the way his tutors had always warned would lead to concussion. How long had it been since he had had a decent night's sleep? Four days? A week? He couldn't remember any more. He leaned back further, the chair gave a dangerous lurch and he put his feet sharply back on the floor. Killing himself through stupidity was only mildly more attractive than torture at Ozorne's hands. Staghorn rested his head in one of his hands and allowed his eyelids to relax once more.  _What was he going to do?_  The other hand spidered over the table until it found the goblet that contained his revitalising potion. Fingers closed around the cold metal and he raised it to dry lips.

It was empty.

Frustrated he hurled it away, sending it crashing into the magically shielded door.

"Sarah!"

The shield fell to admit a trembling child of sixteen. "My Lord?"

One hand still holding up his head he pointed at the dented goblet spiralling at her feet. "You let it go dry," he explained harshly.

"My Lord, with respect I couldn't get in through the-"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR RIDICULOUS EXCUSES!" he bellowed, the girl made an attempt at escape but the shield was back in place. "Find Master Juon and get me some more."

"It's three in the morning, my Lord, he'll be asl…"

"For Mithros' sake! Wake him up, girl! Perhaps he'd like to take any objections to the emperor." The green wall vanished, the door creaked open and the girl fell gratefully through it. For good measure he flung a candlestick after her where it stuck quivering in the door. Sparkling fire sprung up as it closed, sealing him back inside once more. There would be no potion for another hour or so. Juon would undoubtedly be asleep, as Sarah had pointed out and even with the threat of Ozorne's anger hanging over him would still work extra slowly out of spite. Tristan let out his breath in one haggard stream and massaged his temples with long fingers than now sparkled with rings, gifts from his grateful emperor. Gods he was tired. Still than would not stop Ozorne mounting his head on a spike if he failed to produce anything and reluctantly he pushed himself to his feet and moved over to the examining bench.

It was a simulacrum; there was no doubt about it. Unfortunately Ozorne insisted Arram did not have the magical skills to create such an illusion so it fell to his new high mage, Tristan, to find out exactly  _how_  they had been foiled. It would've been very easy to go to sleep, stride into the throne room tomorrow and announce "Your majesty, Draper escaped using a simulacrum," but then he probably would not live to see the next morning.  _Perhaps, the mind is still enclosed within the body_. He heaved around a couple of books until he found the one he was looking for and poured over it for a minute. _Apparently not._

"Damn you Draper!" he yelled at the ghost of his enemy. "Why wouldn't you just die?!"

He awoke to a loud banging somewhere outside his room. Blearily he opened one eye; there was nothing in his sphere of vision except one large hand. He tried moving his fingers, the hand in front of him remained still. Not his hand then. The noise continued. Why wouldn't they go away? He managed eventually to push himself into a sitting position, ready to tell whoever it was to leave him in peace then he caught sight of Arram's still face, remembered where he was and who it was trying to break through his door. It felt like someone had just thrown a bucket of iced water over his head, a quick glance at the candles on his desk told him several hours had passed. He rushed to the curtains and yanked them opened revealing the bustling city below. It was too late. He let the barrier fall. "Come in?"

The door moved open slowly as if the person behind it were not sure anything would be accomplished by merely pushing it inwards.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting out here?" Juon demanded.

"I have no idea," Tristan told him wearily, sinking back into his chair. "Though I expect you intend to inform me."

"Three hours!" the other mage shrieked.

"Really?" Staghorn murmured disinterestedly. "Have you brought the potion?"

"Have I?" Juon spluttered in disbelief. "Of course I have."

"Well can I have it please? I have a very important meeting with the emperor… Sarah what time is it?"

"The clock struck seven moments ago, my Lord."

"In about half an hour then and I'll be sure to tell him, before I faint with exhaustion, that it was your fault I could not complete my research."

Bristling with barely suppressed rage the goblet was handed over and Juon stalked from the room.

Tristan drank it slowly, savouring each new burst of energy until he had enough strength to draw his gift back from the shield.

He got up and moved painfully to the mirror. His hair stuck up in all directions but that could be fixed with a comb readily enough. At least the bags beneath his eyes seemed to have vanished and his skin was no longer ashen. His clothes were wrinkled beyond repair though, he opened the wardrobe before he remembered that he wasn't in his rooms, these were Arram's. Were. He shrugged and pulled off his own plum robes and selected a long black embroidered one from the rail. It trailed along the ground until Tristan fetched some scissors and cut a foot from the bottom. Better. Arram didn't seem to own a comb however so Tristan merely pulled his fingers through his hair and tied it back with one of the multitude of hair ties the room's previous occupant had scattered around it. He tried a debonair smile.

Nauseating really; it was like Draper had never left.

"Master Staghorn, your majesty."

Tristan bowed as low as tired muscles would allow. "Your imperial majesty," he purred.

"Speak up man I know who I am."

"Of course." He bowed again. "I have toiled all night and have finally arrived at my analysis."

"And?"

"Your majesty, Draper escaped using a simulacrum."

"Preposterous!" Ozorne stormed rising from the gilt throne. "Staghorn, I thought we discussed this."

"We did your majesty which is why I suspect that he did not create the simulacrum himself."

The emperor allowed himself to sit back into the velvet cushions. "Go on."

"There are no marks of the Gift upon it which suggests it was created by a very powerful mage." The emperor's face twisted in displeasure. "Far more powerful than Master Draper. Infact had I not personally examined Lindhall Reed…"

"Are you sure you checked completely."

Tristan started to scowl but the image of his own head on a spike pervaded his anger. "Of course, your majesty. There is no evidence than Master Reed is connected to Draper's escape. He's very popular. I fear if he were accused the people would rise up against you."

"Do my citizen's not love me?" Ozorne demanded.

 _No._  "Of course sire but I feel such a move would be unwise."

"Very well." The mage allowed himself to relax. It seemed today would not be his last after all. "I am pleased with you Master Staghorn."

"Thank you, your majesty."

"Our spies have revealed that Draper is indeed hiding out in Corus. Ambassador Tourin has secured King Jonathan's hospitality and assistance in this matter. I expect you and a team of at least five other competent mages, two legions and anyone else you feel might be useful to depart for Tortall by noon today."

"You are too generous, your majesty."

Ozorne waved his hand graciously, indicating the audience was over and Tristan bowed again and backed out of the throne room. "Oh and Staghorn?"

"Your majesty?"

"Get some new robes. I could recognise Draper's appalling taste a mile away, I'm sure he will able to do the same. The palace tailors will oblige I'm sure."

"Thank your imperial majesty."

"Do not disappoint me Staghorn," Ozorne called after the mage's retreating figure.


End file.
